


Want You (to find me)

by busaikko



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alien Gender/Sexuality, Community: kink_bingo, First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot, Touch, Trans Character, Transgender, Transsexual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-27
Updated: 2010-06-27
Packaged: 2017-10-10 07:23:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/97142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/busaikko/pseuds/busaikko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The beer and the game and this conversation are exactly the terrible kind of seduction he would have expected from John.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Want You (to find me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kanata (kyuuketsukirui)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyuuketsukirui/gifts).



> Title from "I Touch Myself" by The Divinyls.

"Huh," Ronon says, warm from drinking John's beer but nowhere near drunk like John is, drunk enough to be talking about sex. Or not having sex. He figures John's exaggerating the slow slur of his words. Ronon leans down to grab one of the stupid golf balls which are all over the floor from John trying to demonstrate something earlier. He tosses it, hard and fast and with enough spin to make it bob erratically; John picks it out of the air with a deft conservation of movement. So, probably faking. "That common with your people, or are you just weird?"

John snorts. "_My people_ aren't really like Sex and the City, you know." He tosses the ball up and catches it with a roll of his fingers; then again. "But, it's not."

"You embarrassed?" Ronon follows up. John's trying to tell him something here, and he wishes John would remember the language and cultural barriers. John does that thing with his eyebrows, pulling them up and together, and tips his chin to the side.

"Just thought you should know." John's frown takes on a confused edge. "You know I'm hitting on you, right?"

Ronon grins; the beer and the game and this conversation are exactly the terrible kind of seduction he would have expected from John.

"You ever want something you can't have?" John asks, and then curls over from sitting, elbows on his knees and palms against his forehead.

"Duh," Ronon says, which earns him a choke of laugher. He likes that word, which he learned from McKay. One short derisive syllable to convey how thick someone was being. "We can still fuck. You think you can do what you're told?"

"Nobody," John says, still hiding his face, "thinks I can do what I'm told."

Ronon can't help grinning at that. He likes getting under John's skin. "Sit up," he says. "Like this," and he settles onto John's bed, kneeling with his knees wide, hands loose.

John kicks his boots off and stuffs his socks inside before pulling his feet up. He sits in _seiza_ position, knees together and back straight. Ronon would bet that John's got the arch of one foot pressed demurely to the top of the other.

"Knees apart," Ronon says. "Exactly like this."

"You going to hit me with something?" John asks. "Or make me meditate?"

Ronon figures the humor is a good gauge of how uncomfortable John is, but he also doesn't think John's going to get any more comfortable. "Just do what I do," he says, ducking his head a little to make sure he's got John's gaze fixed on him, and then he crosses his eyes quick.

John mimics him, startled into smiling. He looks younger when he smiles. "That your sexy face?"

"One of them," Ronon agrees, and stretches both his hands out in front, lacing his fingers together so his palms face John. He's got the distance just right; when, after a confused lag, John copies the motion, there's at least a half-handspan between their hands. He can see that John's noted the distance as well, eyes tightening as he thinks, and his jaw starting to jut because, Ronon figures, he thinks he's being babied. "Don't your people jerk off together?".

John's sidetracked by that. Good. He's also turned on, and embarrassed again. Ronon raises his hands so his palms face the ceiling and stretches. His arms are bare; he had Teyla's clothes-worker make him up a bunch of sleeveless shirts, they're good in the heat. John's wearing one of his shirts that cover him all the way to his wrists. When he copies Ronon and puts _his_ hands up, Ronon can see a sliver of pale skin and dark hair where the hem rides up.

Ronon rotates his arms back and down, grabs the bottom of his shirt, and pulls it over his head. John's just a beat behind him, watching carefully, his black shirt tossed on Ronon's brown one left-handed because Ronon used the right. Ronon thinks it's hot how quickly John's picking this up. He raises an eyebrow and smiles; so does John. He licks his upper lip and watches John watch his tongue, even as his own curls out, wet and clumsy.

Ronon raises his left hand and sticks two fingers in his mouth, sucks for a moment, gets them wet, and then runs them down from the corner of his jawbone to the base of his neck. He does it again on the other side, watching John's fingers hit the crooked pale scar from the iratus bug feeding, stutter, and jerk away. That came from before Ronon's time and he didn't even know what it was at first, but he's watched John enough to know that even he doesn't touch himself there, not on purpose.

Ronon licks his fingertips on both hands and draws spiralling circles around his areolae that loop tighter until he's pinching his nipples, first finger curled under and thumbs pressing down from the top until they're hard and sensitive to the touch. John has to shift his hips; Ronon can see the outline of his dick, hard in his pants. He runs his little fingers along his own scars, where his breast tissue was removed.

Ronon got the impression from Beckett that people like him were treated badly on John's world. Beckett asked if Ronon was going to tell anyone, implying maybe he shouldn't. Ronon spoke to Teyla, who said he should tell John, so he did. John's seen his scars before. But this is like having John touch them, and he gives John a challenging smile.

John smiles right back at him, chin up, and twists his nipples just a bit, testing to see if Ronon'll follow _him_. About fucking time.

"That's hot when you do that," Ronon says, and slides one hand down his chest splay-fingered, watching John's chest hair thread through his fingers. A lot of it's grey, like the beard John keeps shaved out of what Ronon guesses is vanity. He scratches around his navel with the edge of his nail, pulling his shoulders back to tighten his stomach.

John raises his hand, his slow, wicked smirk widening as Ronon follows, and sucks his thumb for a second before reaching down to rub at his navel in a way that looks an awful lot like fucking. "_That's_ hot," John says, a bit breathless, and it's weird. Usually after being around someone for a while, Ronon wonders what it'd be like to have sex with them. He'd pictured John more assertive, like the men in the sex movies Rodney showed him once, but he likes this better. It's still a show, but a lot more intimate.

"I want to touch myself," he tells John, letting his fingers slip under the waistband of his pants. "That cool?"

John huffs a short laugh, almost like he's in pain. "Yeah," he says, his voice rough.

Ronon's pants have to be unlaced, and John's are buttoned and strapped up with a belt, but they keep their pace equal, so that they're both still moving together.

Ronon rubs his hand down over the leather covering his crotch first, and presses up hard with the heel of his hand as he strokes back. He doesn't think that'll do anything for John, but he's turned on enough that it makes his muscles contract in a short orgasm that shortens his breath and makes his skin prickle with sweat.

"Hey," John says, sounding amused and frustrated, kind of whiny.

Ronon tells him to suck it up. "I bet you used to be able to come a couple times a night," he adds. "Back when you were young."

"Oh, fuck _you_," John says, but he's holding back a smile; it was a pretty good insult. Ronon likes to score points like that.

John pushes his hand inside his pants, and Ronon follows suit. John has to hitch up a bit to get his pants loose, tugging them down, and Ronon's fine with that. John gets a hand around his dick and starts pulling slow, his head falling forward for a moment. Ronon rubs his own cock, keeping pace, until John looks up again.

John's eyes are dark, like he's been drugged, and his mouth is open, and he slides his other hand down to squeeze his balls, which makes him twist and half-rise up on his knees. Ronon slides two fingers into himself and has to clench his teeth at how tight and wet he is, how hard it is to twist and press at the right spot.

"I'm going to come," John warns, his hand speeding up as he watches Ronon's hands. "I don't -- "

"Do it," Ronon says, his voice raw with need, fingers pulling him toward his own orgasm.

John's noisy, making low harsh cries that he can break off but can't stop from making in the first place. His whole body tenses and tightens like he's been subjugated to his dick, which shoots come up over his chest.

Ronon had thought that John would look good fucked out, and he's pleased to find out that he was right. It's enough to give him the push he needs to come again, his inner walls clenching tight around his fingers, wet dripping down past his wrist, pleasure making him feel melted at the core, dizzy and powerful and _alive_.

When he straightens, tossing his hair back, shaking his head to get the sweat out of his eyes, John gives him a look and swipes two still-shaking fingers through the semen on his stomach and brings them to his mouth, sucks them clean. Ronon uses his tongue to chase his own taste, mimics John until John's mostly cleaned himself up and Ronon's fingerprints are starting to swell.

"Should take a shower," John says, shifting, legs constrained by trousers. "Join me?"

"Yeah," Ronon says, letting John lead because -- well, he thinks, fuck that. "What happens now?" John's obviously still not quite back from his orgasm, because he blinks and looks for a moment like he's about to explain _showers_. "Now that we're friends, who fuck."

John snorts and gets off the bed with an incredible lack of grace, trousers nearly tripping him. "Will this affect the team?"

"If you thought it would, you wouldn't have fucked me in the first place," Ronon says. He shrugs. "You going to fuck other people, too?"

"No," John says, like it's a stupid question. "I don't mind if you do. Really," he adds, and shrugs.

Where Ronon comes from, it's an insult to imply someone lacks loyalty, but he's hungry and John's more talkative when he's playing one of his dumb games, anyway.

"We should tell Teyla," he says as he passes John, collecting his shirt from the floor. "She'd want to know."

John gives him a stricken look that makes Ronon grin.

"We don't have to tell her about the sex, Sheppard," he says, and pokes John in the head the way McKay does. "Just that we're -- " and he waves his finger back and forth between them.

John rolls his eyes. "She'll figure out the sex part, believe me," he mutters under his breath, but he's smiling again, eyes lowered, happiness eclipsing dark shadows and lines of worry. Ronon kind of wants to keep him that way, as long as he can.

  
.: .: .: .: .: .:  
the end  
:. :. :. :. :. :.


End file.
